Patches of Silk
by darthluna01
Summary: Right after the Battle of Hogwarts, Luna is feeling lonely, until a certain Gryffindor shows up. Constructive criticism welcomed.


**A/N: To Note: Luna is acting slightly more 'normal' than usual.**

My life had a lot of holes. I realize that now. No matter how many patches I mended them over with, or threads I would sew, they came back. Life is like a piece of fabric you fsee, small at first until you weave your threads to build it up into something magnificent. It takes work and patience to make it strong, and sometimes you are inclined to feel it splitting. At some points, your life will unravel into chaos or it will get knotted. But if you're like me, sometimes your life get holes punctured in it and slows you down. If you don't take care of them, they'll rip it apart from the inside, like rotting fruit. But that's why the good people up there have invented patches.

I always found my patch in Daddy. He was endearing, understanding and had interesting outlooks on many things. He was there when no one was left to mend the first hole. He was there when she wasn't. He was there, when she could never be around anymore at all. It was the first, deepest cut in the fabric, and the only patch available was time, tears and father.

Then there were the snags. They surrounded me, and I learned to accept them. They were in my own house, and they had isolated me from their activities. I understood, banking on the believe that fate had a better answer sooner or later. Well, sometimes the snags were persistent, and often recurred. But I really didn't mind the ridicule, it was their opinion and they had a right to it. Yet, I was alone. I didn't let it touch me, and clung to the patches that held me together.

Soon enough, it seemed that the patches were farther and farther away, until all I had was frayed silk. So beautiful in its own right, but ever so delicate.

When they threatened to split into rips, five of the biggest patches came along to help me. They unconsciously tucked away the insecurities, as they too looked for patches. At that time, we had all become a united front, and a patch for each other. The unhitched spots of my woven cloth had subsided, and I was immune to any further damage.

Things grew dire, and I held to those friends who had saved me even tighter than before. Even so, I knew that like all things, they must leave as well to make patches for those unknown and on the brim of unraveling completely. They left one by one, but I kept up hope that they should return and we could all be happy and whole again. Three left before I was forced to be ripped away.

New holes reared themselves, clinging to hope while the others around me needed mending just as much as I did. My fabric wore thin in those days, but I had hope and improvisation on my side, working diligently to sew back the holes.

Once again, those who I had relied on rescued me and all was well as it could be. Soon after, all of us would bear knots and holes of the things, and the people we had lost. Yet, in our unity we gained strength like no other. We rose against our snags, our enemies, and came out victorious. Our losses were not in vain and our cause not impossible. At the same time, I do not feel as whole as I should.

The well-worn Gryffindor table bears holes as well, shadowed in the sunrise. Once again I am isolated by the world around me. My friends sit with their loved ones, hungry after such a terrible battle. I gazed at the cluster of ginger-headed wizards that surrounded their fallen brother and son. Amongst them was a bushy brunette and bespectacled wizard, both as grieved as their companions. Near them was a stout old woman with gray hair, rattling away. To my dismay, I did not see what I had been searching for - a mousy haired and awkward Neville Longbottom.

Nevertheless, they all had patches to cling to, while I had none. They were my only outlet. My father, I knew, was still there, but so far away that I could not reach out to him for help any longer. I was ripping away from the things that I had and wanted, and the wind was carrying me somewhere desolate and foreign. All of what occured in this past year has left me scarred. I wasn't ready enough.

This battle, which I know is not the last, has left me empty. For once, I do not think Wrackspurts have anything to do with it. Right now,

"Luna? Luna, are you-are you alright?" Rubble crackled under his feet, as he neared.

Honesty is my policy, and I was not about to rid of it now. "Well, I do feel a bit...lonely."

He was a little bit taken aback at my answer, as most people would have opted for a more neutral answer. "Oh. Um, is there anything I can do?"

"Maybe." And I left it at that. He just continued to stand there as the sun rose fully, blinding us both in its shine.

After a while, he said softly, "Are you missing your parents?"

"I think so. Usually, when I miss my mum, I'll think of my dad. Now...it just doesn't feel the same, I suppose."

"Well," he stammered, "well, I just want you to know that...I'm here too."

I smiled in spite of myself. "Don't you want to be with your Gran? I'm sure she's very proud of you. I know she is." Then, as an afterthought, "I know I am."

I could sense Neville blush, even when my back was turned. He was so funny in that way.

"No, I think she's busy -er- catching up. But Luna? Thanks."

"You're welcome, Neville Longbottom." _Neville Longbottom. _I found that I liked it, the way it rolled easily off my tongue.

Not really sure of what to do, his footsteps began to backtrack. I wanted to keep him here, his presence did make me feel better, but before I said anything-

"Luna?" His voice was as low as a whisper.

"Yes?"

"Um, do you feel better now?"

"I think so." I wasn't sure. I didn't want him to leave, but while he was here I felt much better.

"Y-you think so?" His voice showed so much concern, something I had never heard before. To both our surprises, a salty tear trailed down my cheek, over the bruise from the fight and the small dot of blood that tugged at the corner of my mouth. It trailed past the holes in my silk and it stung.

There was a rustle of robes, when he came up and held my hand, looking straight into my eyes. "Luna, you're always very alone, I know. But now we're here for you. I'm here for you." The tone of his voice was firm but full of emotion and meaning. I knew he meant what he said, and they weren't just empty words. I could really rely upon him. That made a few more tears fall.

Neville was a little worried, so he tried to be more light-hearted - "I mean, that's what friends are for, right?"

I laughed a little too, for no reason whatsoever. As he stared down at me, I realized that he was five inches taller. I also noticed his puffy face and jagged scars. All in all, he did look very worn, but yet his eyes twinkled warmly in a way that made my face heat up.

Then, he leaned down slowly to touch his lips with mine. I could feel the same warmth from my head to the tips of my toes. The threads embedded themselves once again and made me whole, no frayed edges waiting to undo themselves anymore. The holes were gone, and now Neville was the patch that stuck. Silk is a very interesting material. Unique as it shimmers, but has many flaws as well. If stretched, it can be left too flexible and if dirty will be attacked by pests of a magnitude. If wet, it loses strength.

Well, I had felt like someone had doused me in ice-cold water. But if Neville could inspire cheerfulness and laughter, then he would be the one to keep me dry when I could not.


End file.
